


Scratched

by Inbredipus



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Emotions, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 19:58:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14817902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inbredipus/pseuds/Inbredipus
Summary: Melodicus Lightsong was good at many things: dealing with his emotions was not one of them. Nor was taking care of himself.Maybe he wasn't good at that many things after all.





	Scratched

Melodicus didn’t cry, not anymore; he couldn’t remember the last time he felt the scalding shame of tears on his cheeks, but he knew that it was many lifetimes ago, many Melodicuses ago. The memory of the sensation had fallen into disrepair, more an abstract fact than a point in his past: he had cried at some point in his life, but it was so far removed from the man he was now that it no longer mattered. It was a footnote citing research proven wrong, there only to provide a context to the past.

This idiosyncrasy of his had given Melodicus a reputation of heartlessness that he did little to curb. He found it easy to settle into the role of mysterious, hollow-eyed crusader, found comfort in the distance it put between him and others. Other paladins in the order would occasionally spend time together, laughing about past conquests and misadventures over pints of cheap ale, but the invitation was never extended Melodicus’ way in any sense beyond common courtesy. Were he a different, more social man, this would have proven discouraging; to Melodicus, it was like a breath of cool air in smoke-filled lungs. It was only when he was alone that he could truly think.

That was why he was currently leaning on a railing in Dalaran, looking down at the forboding depths of the sea that spread out like a deceptively inviting carpet. The crisp knife of sea salt brushed his face as it surged past on the wind, leaving his skin feeling oddly sticky. The new cuts on his face - won during a fight with a particularly aggressive demon - stung thrillingly with each gust, a reminder of life that Melodicus had begun to relish in recent times. Pain meant he was alive, so each injury had the echoes of victory in it, each bruise a reminder of what he fought for. He absentmindedly pressed on the newly-purpling patch on his cheek, drawing in a sharp, salt-encrusted breath at the dull ache that flared up like a bird with ruffled feathers. He could feel the mending flesh’s heat through his gloves, somehow far warmer than the surrounding skin. Melodicus licked his quickly-chapping lips, tasting the hint of copper and salt that would have been alarming were he any other man. As it was, he simply made a flat noise of acknowledgement, as if he was in the midst of a conversation rather than staring mistily at the ocean.

Melodicus could hear the distant beating of wings, the cawing of the few foolish gulls that flew this high, and for a moment - just a moment, mind you - he was back on the beach in Quel’thalas, only twelve years under his belt and eyes still clear blue like the spring sky. The last time he had gone back to that beach, he had nearly tripped over the skull of some lost elf, one of the rare lucky ones that hadn’t heeded the Scourge’s desperate call. In his memory, though, there was no decay weighing down the air, no sense of unimaginable loss sinking his steps deeper into the muck that never seemed to fully solidify, as if the spilled blood had relegated the soil into a constant mire. No, there he could see the golden sand fade into bright ocean waters, white where the sun glinted off the waves. In that moment, he was at peace.

The cawing faded into a screech of terror, and Melodicus let the nostalgic fog lift from his eyes just in time to see a diving felbat swallow one of the less cautious seagulls whole. It turned to him with a similar hunger in its eyes, dull and violent and vacant. It didn’t move, however; instead it hovered, feathers sticking slightly out of its maw as it made what looked like a pleased smile, all sharp teeth and slaver.

Melodicus reached for his sword with cautious speed, unsure what a fast movement would do to the current uneasy stalemate between them. The felbat seemed to catch on to his intent though, and rose up before diving with an unholy screech. It was all Melodicus could do to dodge, his already sore bones screaming in protest as he placed his foot oddly; a string of pain ran up his leg like a bad stitch in fabric. He grit his teeth, mind working fast to try as the felbat rose to attempt another dive-bomb.

As it neared him again, Melodicus blocked it, using the momentary stun to throw it off. As the felbat regained its bearings, he placed a hand on his screaming leg, letting the tingle of the Light flow through his fingertips just enough to ease the ache.

The felbat recovered more quickly than expected, and launched itself at Melodicus again, this time making contact. The force threw Melodicus back into a wall, and the unforgiving stone of the wall made him feel like the tongue in a recently-rung bell. He didn’t have time to recover, though, as the felbat was still upon him. He hissed out a spell, calling down judgement on the wretched thing that was currently snapping its fetid mouth in his face.

Light preserve him, the hastily-called prayer worked enough for Melodicus to once again push it off, this time calling upon the Light to guide his blade as he swung it into the soft belly of the demon.

The demon, however, recovered enough to dodge, and it was soon upon him again; this time, it managed a nasty swipe across his arm. Melodicus didn’t have to look to know that there was blood welling up in the gashes, and he cursed himself for not wearing more armor. They were at war; there was no place for lowered guards, not even in the great city of Dalaran. At the very least, he should have worn something thicker than a silk shirt.

The felbat paused for a bit, monsterous features contorting into a sort of sneer, as if it was gloating over having injured him. Melodicus took the opportunity, and ran with it, calling on all his strength to summon the wings of light, the wrath that all warriors of the Light held in reserve for such moments. The shimmering in the corner of his eye was the only warning he got that the plea had worked until the white-hot flash of power burst open his veins with holy grace. The demon seemed as surprised as Melodicus felt, the energy surging through him almost painfully, like he had smoked too much bloodthistle and then had proceeded to get struck by lightning.

This time, Melodicus lunged forward, a prayer on his lips. The felbat hissed in return, lashing out with the viciousness of a rabid beast. The numbness that encapsulated Melodicus’ body made it easy to ignore the injuries the demon was inflicting; he focused all his attention on the offense, drawing power from every reserve in order to smite the felbat.

He did not know how long the fight lasted, but it could not have been too long; no guards passed by on patrol, and the sun still laid at the horizon, having barely sunk at all during the melee. Melodicus pulled his sword free of the demon’s belly, shaking it in a vain attempt to remove the rapidly-drying green ooze that was now coating it. He could feel the high of battle fading, and the unmistakable pain quickly replacing it. He felt far more aware of his body than before, mentally counting up all the new wounds that were crying out across his skin. There was the one on his arm, which had certainly gotten a few more friends over the course of the battle. The right sleeve was almost completely shredded, and there were certainly a few bloodstains marking the white fabric.

He clicked his tongue as he sheathed his sword, and tucked his hair behind his ear. He didn’t know when it had come loose, but he had no means of holding it back at the moment. Melodicus turned towards the city, trying his damnest to remember the least-populated route to the inn he had been staying in. He had no desire to deal with clucking strangers putting on a mask of concern for his well-being, and even less to deal with the few that actually cared.

With a heavy sigh, he stalked off to the inn, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> ...There will be more of Melo, as well as his fiancé, Lyseras, his late twin sister, Melodica, and his younger brother, Corinanis. Be patient.


End file.
